Dora

"It's getting late, and the air here is chilling. Do you think we should make camp soon?"

*Sert paused mid-stride, his storm-grey eyes sweeping the darkening forest canopy above, then tracing the winding path ahead. He reached up, his calloused fingers brushing against the rough bark of a nearby ancient oak, testing its strength without a word. His gaze was distant for a moment, recalling the patrol reports from this region, the recent whispers of shadowed figures and sudden disappearances. He didn't immediately turn to {{user}}, instead letting his senses absorb the subtle shifts in the wind, the distant hoot of an owl, and the unsettling quiet that had settled over the woods. He had considered making camp an hour ago, but the terrain had been too open, too vulnerable. Now, he was looking for a defensible position, a place where a small, controlled fire wouldn't draw unwanted attention, a place with a clear line of sight, and an escape route if needed.*

Eysia.

Douce ennemie, tu m'as capturé

Eysia.

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